"What is that smell?"
"I think it's coming from the palace-" footsteps squelched on wet grass and strong hands hooked under Clarence's arms to drag him.
"Smells like rotting meat."
"Help me lift him, will you?"
Someone took his feet and lifted. "I didn't think he would be so heavy."
"The Innismen should stop here eventually" That was Bobbin. "I thought with three he might kill us all- it was a bit of a gamble-" he chuckled, sounding rather proud of himself. Clarence was too exhausted to scream at him, he couldn't even lift his head.
"I think we have around- oh- nine bells before they come past. They will check here for him."
Clarence felt Beatrix's hands grip on his feet too hard. She said nothing, which meant she was furious.
Bobbin deposited Clarence on what felt like the roots of a tree. "We shouldn't be able to jump inside the perimeter defences. That's agreeable. Means nobody's here anymore."
Bobbins feet crunched on dry twigs. Clarence felt Beatrix's hand on his shoulder.
"Why just abandon it?" Beatrix's voice was a growl.
"Why not abandon it? What use would the High Steward have for it now? It's no longer easily defendable. If I were him I'd strip it of its wealth and leave it to rot."
Clarence could hardly raise a hand to his face. Everything swam around him like he was drunk. "Are we at Grovely?"
"Yes."
"Okay," His eyes rolled as he tried to summon the strength to move. Trying nearly forced him to black out.
"I wasn't sure a Jump with three could be done," Bobbin laughed. "Never heard of a Leprechaun even attempting it. Only thought to do it because I heard a story somewhere that if a connection is broken the portal will take you to the closest place you know."
"Will he recover?"
There was a pause, "Probably."
"But not by tomorrow."
"No," Bobbin didn't sound that concerned. In fact, he sounded ecstatic. "Not for weeks I expect."
"Will they come here?"
"You know, I think they might when they find out he's not with Northdale any longer." Bobbin cleared his throat. "If they do, I'll exchange Fred for him and we all go away happy. Don't worry Bea, I'll make sure you get back to Ireland, it's the least I can do. Perhaps in return you can tell me more about this world you come from. What was it called, Earth?"
Clarence realised he must have listened into something- maybe when Tom took him to one side to discuss it, or during one of his careless conversations with Beatrix along the way. If he wasn't so exhausted he would have kicked himself. Beatrix was silent for a long time, her fingers dug into his shoulder so hard he felt the pain stab. Pressure released, footsteps walked away.
"Where are you going?"
"As far away from you as possible."
Bobbin laughed under his breath as he hauled Clarence up across his shoulders and took him further into the tree line. After a while he stopped by a gatehouse. "Here we go, my parents' old home. Isn't it useful that it's right by the gate? The Innismen don't even have to come inside."
Bobbin opened the thick oak door and dumped him on the floor by an unlit fire. The mess of furniture told him there had been a fight here. From the blood splatter across the wall, it hadn't ended happily.
Clarence passed out. When his eyes opened, the quality of the light told him it was the next morning. He rolled up off the floor. Shakey, like recovering from the flu. Every muscle in his body ached but he could move, and he forced himself to sit up. Bobbin had been cleaning. Everything was shipshape. He watched Clarence get up with amusement.
"Don't do yourself an injury," he said like a cat, full of smugness.
"Sod off, Bob," Clarence grumbled. "Where's Beatrix?"
"No idea, She has the sense to stay well away from us and I'm not about to leave you to find her."
Clarence lurched for the door but Bobbin got there faster than him and put his hand on the wood, "You're too exhausted to go anywhere Clarence."
"I need to find her," he whispered but even standing to face Bobbin down was hard work. "I need to keep her safe."
"You need to stay here and rest like a good little High Prince about to be returned to his people," Bobbin patted him on his head and danced aside when Clarence swung for him. As Clarence overbalanced, Bobbin eased him into a chair. "Clarence, I will trade you for Fred, then Fred and Beatrix can do as they please. Nobody needs to get hurt. You will become the King, and everybody is happy. Don't fight me, you don't have the strength. Just remember, when you are back on the throne- who put you there and why."
Clarence had acted stupid and got a stupid outcome. How idiotic of him to try to jump with so many people around him. Regardless of what Bobbin said, he would give Clarence to the Innismen and hand Beatrix over alongside him as if she were his dog collar and lead.
Arthur Innisman would bind his powers with Blood Iron chains and march him back to Salisbury and there was nothing he could do about it. Bobbin thought he was so clever, Jumping with him, overloading the strain on his magic, to make sure he was completely at the mercy of the Innismen. Some loyal servant he turned out to be, the scheming pirate.
The day turned old and night came without issue, then the next three days were the same. Clarence's strength returned to him ever so slowly. Every passing day made Bobbin more sullen, and every passing day made Clarence more certain that Beatrix had run away. He hoped she had. He dearly hoped she had started towards Stonedruid City.
On the fourth night, Clarence told Bobbin he would look for her. He hadn't recovered his magical strength, but he could put up enough of a fight to make Bobbin less likely to argue. He didn't need to worry, Bobbin was in such a foul mood that he didn't even look up when Clarence said he was going to look.
~
The journey to the palace from the gate house took over twenty minutes. Every second of them brought back memories from his childhood. By the time he reached the palace, he was thoroughly miserable. The palace stretched up five stories, adorned with gargoyles and towering arched windows. Every bit foreboding, angular and accusing. The Leprechauns had made a pile of bodies in front of the house, and set alight. The stench from it was stomach-churning, and he gagged as he made his way past. It smelled fresh, like the burning had only happened a few weeks ago, and from the way the animals had dragged meat from the pile, they had a lot more to feast on. He covered his mouth and ran up the stairs to the great oak doors.
Inside the entrance hall, they had stripped everything. Blank spaces were lighter where the paintings once hung. Boot marks and old leaves from the footfall of huge numbers of people traipsing through the palace taking anything of worth back to the Court.
Rather than feeling relief at the desolation, the bleak emptiness of the entrance hall made him feel exactly the same as he had following his mother's death. Nothing was familiar any longer and everything felt twice as dangerous, twice as ugly and harsh.
It seemed wrong to call Beatrix's name, so he moved around the rooms with his hands in his pockets. Every single space he entered was stripped, in some rooms even the features built in to the plasterwork had been taken. The Steward did not intend for anybody to come back here. He had wiped it clean of its memories and history, and in a way Clarence was thankful. He wasn't sure how he would have felt if the rooms had been furnished and left like a mausoleum.
It was with a mixed feeling that he found Beatrix on the first floor. She had picked one of the few rooms that still had a bed; it being so big it hadn't been easily removed from the room. The fire, which was crackling away merrily, betrayed Beatrix's residence, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you hiding?" he asked the space in general. Moments later Beatrix crawled out from under the bed with a knife in her hand. She looked both relieved and upset, and she didn't rush to him like he had hoped.
"I've got some explaining to do I suppose." His hands were still in his pockets and he sounded pathetic.
She felt the edge of the knife with her thumb. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. "You look terrible," she said after a while. "I thought you would be halfway back to the Fortress by now."
"They didn't show up."
Her mouth was a thin line. He hated the way she was looking at him as if he were annoying to her. "Did you kill Bobbin?"
"No."
"I see." Her voice bubbled with tension, like a pressurised pot. Every silence between her words screamed at him. "When can we Jump?"
"I can't jump anywhere for at least another week."
Her eyes flicking over him as the fire cracked, and the sunlight leaked from the sky outside the room. "Bobbin betrayed you."
"He doesn't see it that way. He thinks he is forcing me to take up my birthright. He has a cause he believes in Beatrix. I told you he was a Pirate, what did you expect?"
"Fine for him and sod the rest of us?" she spat.
"For the greater good, yes, he's always been like that. Some would say that makes him an honourable man."
"I couldn't stand to be near him," she finally put the knife away, and she turned and sunk onto the bed. "I thought eventually somebody would turn up. I hoped you would, but I suspected it would be him."
"Not Fred?"
"That's too much to wish for, I thought they would take you by force and refuse to give Fred back. I thought they would keep him to make sure you do what you're told. Any fool who knows you would do the same."
"Bobbin gambled that the Innismen would come looking for me here. He didn't realise how unlikely they would see it that I would return home."
"You came here on purpose?"
He shook his head. "No. I think my magic did it automatically."
"He's mad."
Clarence realised how upset she looked as if every night had been spent crying. Eyes were sunken, hair lank and her cheeks pale. He wanted to reach out and pull her into a tight hug, but he suspected she might scratch his eyes out if he tried it. He needed to say he was sorry. The words wouldn't come.
She dropped the knife and turned to the bed. He watched her close her eyes and hang her head. "Bea-"
"I have to know something."
Clarence stayed quiet, waiting. When she spoke she asked him something he hadn't been expecting.
"You say your childhood was unhappy but you never say why. What is it that makes you so unwilling to go back? I need to know, Clarence."
"Why?" He asked. "Isn't what you know enough?"
She shook her head. "I'm angry with you. I keep telling myself I shouldn't be- because of what you had experienced but I don't know what that was Clarence."
He opened his mouth to tell her, but how could he describe what he had been through? There had to be a curated version he could use, something that sounded like an answer robust enough to silence her curiosity that didn't come close to the depth of his experiences.
"If you imagine how bad it could be- make it worse," he told her, his mouth twitching with pain. Beyond that he wasn't sure where to even start.
She just waited- expecting him to continue- and in the silence he broke.
"My father tortured me, and made others torture me too. Physically and mentally, from the moment I publicly spoke against him. I accused him of my mothers murder and I denounced his policies and his rulings as unfavourable to humans. He tried to make my life such a misery I would kill myself. Instead I ran."
"Your father is dead."
"But his court is not. Do you think Kings do their own dirty work, Beatrix?"
She linked her hands in her lap, "And the same people are still there, and removing them would not be easy."
Clarence nodded. "My mother was unhappy before she died, they made her life a misery, and once she passed they did the same to me."
Was he saying too much, had he slipped up and allowed her to infer more? It took all his skill to give her the simplest of details whilst seeming to present an honest history. His explanations silenced her. If she was satisfied with them he couldn't tell, but she definitely seemed a little less hostile. She hung her head and closed her eyes; he watched her feet swinging as she thought.
"I watched you slaughter people," she said. "Like they were just animals. How many people have you killed, Clarence?"
"Five," he didn't feel any kind of pride in it, in fact, it made him sick.
"Five?" she echoed. "I thought it would be more."
"I've been trained to fight since before I could walk. At three, I was better with a sword than cutlery. I don't mess around when I have to do it, I make it quick."
She ran her lip through her teeth and her eyes looked like they were tearing up.
"I killed those Druids to allow us to run. I didn't realise it would upset you so much- I won't ever kill anybody again if that's what you want, but we have to stay safe!"
"It's not that- It's-" she paused and sniffed as a tear broke away from her eye and rolled down her cheek. "What are they doing to Fred? This world's so cutthroat- what's stopping them from hurting him?"
Clarence couldn't worry her more by telling her what he had seen when he last scryed. "Why would they?" he said, as gently as he could. "There's no reason for them to hurt him."
"Unless you don't go back," She spluttered. "I thought I was alone. The last three days have been horrible."
He dashed across the room and pulled her into a hug. Held her with his head on top of hers. He hadn't even considered what she would experience whilst he sat around in the gatehouse silently cursing Bobbin for making him too weak to fight.
"I've run out of food, I don't have any money. I can't hunt, or make a shelter- I thought I'd die here."
He shushed her as he held her and eventually she fell silent and pulled away from him sniffing, "Sorry," she kept apologising, and saying she was "Such a mess."
"Do you want to come back to the Gatehouse with me?" he asked. "You must put up with Bobbin, but at least there's food."
She wiped her nose on the back of her hand as she looked around the room.
"I'll give you some privacy," he told her and he left her to pack.
~
They needed money. Though the palace had been stripped of all, its material wealth, there were places he knew would be untouched. Places guarded by blood magic. The coin room and his father's study were one such place.
Clarence descended the servants' stairway until he was deep underground and trod down dark bare halls. Once this path had burned with candlelight, and laughter had echoed in the corridors. Servants would curtsy as he snuck through back rooms and passageways, and the children of the courtiers would sit and be schooled in rooms close to the corridor he now moved down. All that remained of it was a bone-shaking chill.
Clarence rounded the corner and walked up a set of stone stairs, through two chambers built to receive guests, along a corridor, and then he stopped. Here was the room he needed. Clarence could hardly bring himself to stretch out his hand, and the deep black of the windowless corridor pressed in around him and he shook with anticipation.
A cool breath of wind made his body tense. He felt eyes on him and moved the lantern around to look back at the way he came. There was nothing. He was overcome with a sudden wonder and sadness; the moment stretched on for an eternity before it broke.
He cut his thumb, rubbed it onto the door and pushed it open. He stepped inside, but as the smell of his father filled his nostrils, he shrank back to the door and took gulping breaths.
How could this be the reaction after more than a decade free from him? How could smell elicit such fear? Clarence thought he must be the worst kind of coward.
There was the enormous desk, the fireplace that stretched one entire wall. Pictures of his forefathers looked down on him with heavy frowns. Clarence found his father's whisky decanter on the desk, it was without its lid, and a glass stood with the dregs of its contents crystallised in the bottom. The light from the lantern made shadows come alive, and Clarence jumped as he illuminated a stuffed bear, mounted in an attack pose.
Getting over his fright, Clarence placed the lantern on the table and chanced a nervous smile. It wasn't so bad now his father was gone. It was just a room once again. Sitting down in his father's chair, Clarence went through the drawers. It took him a long time to find the one with the false bottom. His mother had told him of the drawer with the hidden keys, but she had never shown him. Clarence took them out, a grand metal loop with many keys attached to it. Clarence only recognised a few; there were the ones to his own rooms, the ones to the front doors of the house, and a couple to the areas under the Palace where only a few could tread. Amongst these were a handful of anonymous keys, a mixture of sizes and weights all locking away some family secret behind heavy oak doors. There was another key that Clarence was familiar with, and it was this one he held between his thumb and forefinger now. This key, small and unremarkable, was the one to his father's safe. Clarence held it up to the lantern. He knew where the safe was too, and that he could open it.
Brandy from a drinks cabinet, topping up his hip flask; drinking it like water, intent on getting far drunker than was sensible. He got up and walked across to the fireplace, then walked through the wall behind it. It was a strange sensation as if his body had been ripped apart and reassembled. Clarence didn't much like it. Now, standing in the money room, he could see that the safe was untouched. He waved his hand over the lock and heard the satisfying clicks as it responded to his bidding, then he put the key in and turned. The safe came open with a small creek. Inside, the moneybags were still there, as were the paperwork and ledgers for the estate. Clarence took a bag out and looked at the funds inside; there was enough for him to buy food a hundred times over. He decanted the coins into his own purse, thinking with all this gold he could set himself and his friends up nicely on the Fringe.
Then his eyes fell on the account's ledgers at the back of the safe, in particular one from the year of his mother's disappearance. He picked it up and sat cross-legged with it on the floor, thumbing through the pages until he found what he was looking for: The exact month of his mother's death.
No good would come from looking. He knew that it would only bring him pain, but still he found he was compelled. His eyes skimmed down the entries where there was the expenditure for the everyday running of the palace; the food, the heating, the laundry and wages. All the expenses his family incurred whilst in residence. Clarence's eyes widened, however, when he saw a brazenly large charge hidden in the rest of the household outlays one week before his Mother had died. Clarence's father had bought a ring. Clarence was familiar with the description of it, the gems were rare and precious, and he had seen it a hundred times over on the finger of his stepmother. Here was proof. Proof that Clarence's father was already planning on marrying that horrid woman. Proof, as Clarence had suspected, that his mother had been murdered and his father had been the one responsible. He sat reading the entry repeatedly; it had all been scrupulously planned.
They had treated him like an invalid, told that his suspicions were unfounded and that he was delusional to even think about it. When he refused they punished and humiliated him, but Clarence had been right. He read the account again and again until his eyes hurt, until he couldn't focus anymore. Getting up, he backed away from the book, backed out of the room and into his father's study. There, above the desk, was a large oil painting of the old man looking down at his son with cruelty burning in his painted eyes. Clarence couldn't be present any longer. He grabbed up the lantern and left as quickly as he could.
~
Beatrix was waiting for him in the entrance hall. Outside it was raining, and she cast her eye over him critically and asked him where he had gone. In reply he held up the bag of money and gave it to her, "Keep hold of it for me," he told her, as her eyes glinted and her face broke into a smile. Try as he might to make himself sound happy his voice was flat. She opened the bag, and the gold shone on her face. She laughed.
"It is true what they say about Leprechauns," she giggled and glanced outside. "Where is the rainbow?"
When he didn't laugh with her she nodded, "Yeah, I guess we shouldn't let Bobbin know we have this- not all of it, anyway. Let's hide some of it in our packs."
"Excellent idea." It was a relief to think about hiding gold coins rather than the murder of his mother.
The walk back through the rain wasn't pleasant. That they were now transporting a minor fortune around with them lightened the mood somewhat.
"What kind of place do you want to run to?" Clarence asked her as they went.
"Fred would-" Beatrix stopped and shook her head. "We're not getting him back, are we? They have taken him to Salisbury, and it's too dangerous to go there."
Clarence said nothing. He watched her closely for her reactions, he still didn't know what to do and part of him hoped she would decide for him.
"If we run will they kill him?"
"They will torture him first to work out our location. They will see every single conversation we have ever had in front of him. If only they know what to look for."
"And Bobbin? Considering what he wants, is he likely to help get Fred back?"
"He's more likely to want Fred to remain with them to make sure I don't run again."
She shook her head and her hand brushed against him as they walked; she glanced at him as a jolt like lightning ran up his arm. He pictured her looking at him like she used to look at Fred, with that warm smile and deep brown eyes. It would be so relieved to drown all his sorrows in her embrace. He pictured those eyes closing as she brought her head-
"Can you hear horses?"
He blinked, listened, but heard nothing. "No."
"It's so noisy with the rain I can't tell if my ears are playing tricks on me," she laughed but if there were horses it could mean riders. Those riders might be anybody from a local scoping out the palace for trinkets, a unit of Innismen ready to attack, or Tom of Northdale and his mercenary magnates.
They approached the Gatehouse with caution and when they were close enough to it to check it out without being exposed they saw the smoke from the chimney and the light from the tallow candles peeping out from behind the window shutters.
"It doesn't look like anything is wrong?" Beatrix said as she bit her nail.
Clarence told her to stay put whilst he checked. She pulled up her hood and squatted in a dry patch under a tree whilst he moved deeper into the woods to see if he could find evidence of anybody lurking. He found nothing, so he called off his search and went back to Beatrix, "I think it's fine, it was the rain."
~
"We've run out of food and I only have a few coppers." Was the first thing Bobbin said when they came in through the door. "But I have found this." He held up two enormous bottles of alcohol.
"I think it's whisky, the top's wax-sealed so I can't open it to find out."
Clarence noticed Beatrix cross her arms, but he broke into a grin, "Splendid," he dropped his pack and joined Bobbin by the fire. "Open it up then, let's not sit around just looking at it." He figured that there wasn't much point being angry with Bobbin. He'd acted out of desperation.
"Where did you find it?" Beatrix asked, her voice was restrained but Clarence appreciated the effort to make small talk. Bobbin broke the seal with his knife and pulled out the cork bung, then he poured a three-finger measure for each of them and tipped his down his throat. He winced but quickly smiled, "The finest," he sighed. "It was in the vault of one of the security turrets around the perimeter, whilst you have been elsewhere, I went exploring. Looking for food, but alas I found this instead."
Clarence sunk into chair by the fire but Beatrix was more reserved. She cast a critical eye over the chippings on the floor, where Bobbin had been making small chess pieces, and the unmade bed roles. Sniffed and crossed to the window where she looked out with the corners of her mouth down-turned.
"By now Fred will be in Salisbury," Clarence told Bobbin. "I expect you will want to get your sister back and now you have failed to sell me to the Innismen I think we best call this arrangement to a close."
Bobbin poured again, and Clarence took his and sat back to sip it. "We have a debt," he said. "Are you satisfied?"
"I don't see how I could be anything but satisfied-you helped as best you could."
In the window, Beatrix sipped her whisky and watched them with a cat-like intensity.
"Do you really think-" Bobbin sipped his drink and winced as it burned his throat. "Do you really think the Humanists would be better off with Grendal Innis as the Steward?"
Clarence nodded, he might hate the man with every fibre in his being but he had the skills to do the job, and had been doing the job for years now- with much success, assassinations aside.
"If I don't return, the crown falls to my Aunt Elisa and her son Freddie Blackember and they are unpopular. Freddie is a murderer who killed his own father when he wasn't chosen to ride Dragons and Elisa, it is said, is the one who masterminded it. If they take the throne Grendal will have to remain as the Steward to reduce the likelihood of a civil war."
"So?" Bobbin rolled his eyes, "That's a distraction from what you could achieve in a day by standing up in your court and saying you want them to review Human rights. Direct your secretary of state to review how the Leprechauns use Humans, how they provide them with working rights and what rates of pay they give them. Ask your court to be compassionate and the other courts will follow."
Clarence couldn't believe that Bobbin was still trying, still speaking as if Clarence would eventually go back. "You'd have better luck inciting the Humans to arms than pinning your hopes on me," he laughed. "Think about my standing in that court. I'm a second son who was ridiculed throughout his childhood for his Human sympathies. They would find every excuse under the sun to block my will. They would distract me every day with functions and formalities and deny me the right to my voice."
"If you let them."
"If I don't, I'll end up with a bloodbath. I'd have to cull my court to shape them to my purpose and kings who do that are fighting battles for the rest of their lives."
"You would have allies."
"Amongst people outside of my empire. Amongst Humans who have no say in Leprechaun politics and no representation from them-" Clarence downed his drink and held it out for Bobbin to top up. When Bobbin didn't offer to refill Beatrix's too, she got up and poured herself another measure of whisky. She hadn't spoken. Her presence made Clarence reflect on his words. He was playing to Bobbins wishes.
"But think why it is worth it," Bobbin pressed. "They deny us education, they pay us less, they do not allow us to join the Druids or be represented in law and we do not may speak out against anybody of a magical breed. We can't buy the same property and if we marry into magic all our wealth belongs to them. We are slaves, Clarence, and you would withhold representation for the sake of a few battles against people you already hate?" Bobbin topped up Clarence's cup again. He knocked it back. The whisky was rather good and the thought of returning to the court was so chilling it felt like the only thing that could warm him. Bobbin spoke on for hours more, trying every way possible to convince Clarence that he could do some good if he were to return. Eventually, he gave up and changed the subject to their seafaring days. Clarence practically bullied Beatrix into joining in with their conversation, including her at every opportunity. Eventually, she warmed up to talking. Her treatment of Bobbin was still frosty.
When Bobbin fell asleep, she turned to Clarence with a drink dangling from her fingers and announced that she intended to sleep upstairs. "He can have that fire to himself," she slurred. "We will sleep-" she motioned up the stone steps to the floor above and then swept up their bedding and stumbled through the door. Clarence took the bottle as he followed her. They set a fire in the upstairs fireplace and rolled out their mats by it, continuing to drink in comparative silence.
"With or without you, he's going to fight for his people," she told him.
"I hope he does." Clarence held up the bottle, he couldn't believe how much he'd drunk.
"If you had to go back would you support him?"
He shrugged, "I'll always support Human equality- but I mean what I say, Grendal is the best person to affect it."
"And will he?"
"Regardless of his views, the fact that he is ruling is enough."
"Not for Bobbin," Beatrix muttered and took the bottle from him. "He wants regime change."
Clarence nodded slowly as he watched her sip from it. "I fear my own race Clarence," she continued. "I hate that I do but I fear what my people created. I've been so happy living with Fred and you this past year. All the things I left behind on Earth seem so frightening-" she paused, puffed out her cheeks and shifted so she was lying on her side looking up at him. "I do miss being comfortable though." Her eyes were shining, he watched her silently as she rolled the bottle around on it's base. "I can't picture a life without you in it. I can't picture how I would survive if you left me."
"You'd go back to Gelding Town-"
"How?" she asked. "And for how long before one of those Innismen drag me somewhere so they can make sure you don't step out of line."
He had no answer to that. He knew it was true.
"I'm a human. I have no status, no money, no employable skills beyond horse riding. My ability to write in Joining Earth Standard is childlike."
"You can cook. You make really nice bread." Clarence poked her shoulder as he laughed.
She laughed with him, but the laugh faded and left a vacuum. "I want-" she started, but her cheeks flushed red and she turned onto her stomach and took another drink.
He studied her, mesmerised by her. Even as inebriated as she was, she was so intelligent, so considered.
"I-" she tried again, faltered and handed him the bottle as she sat back up. "Since we met, I've wanted-" and she hung her head and swore so softly it sounded like a hiss. "I know you have tried to push me onto Fred, he knew it too."
Clarence linked his fingers and watched the firelight flicker over the surface of his skin. He couldn't deny that. He hoped they would be happy together. That if they had each other it would make it easier for them to one day lose him.
"Didn't you wonder why I never slept with anybody since I came here?"
He hadn't considered it. He hadn't really noticed at all. So caught up in his own drama all the time to consider why she wasn't more free with her affection. "Did you leave somebody back on Earth?" he asked.
"No." There was an exasperation in her voice- as if he were being incredibly stupid. He poured more drink down his throat to avoid facing what she implied but she didn't stop looking at him like he was a fool.
"I've been an asshole to you since I got you to Gelding Town," he protested.
"I saw through it."
"You can't Bea."
"And yet you do too- don't you?"
He nodded- just once- and felt the shame and grief of all the time they had not been able to spend together because he had put the blockers in place, and kept them there, because he was frightened.
"Do you think he will forgive us if we go to the Fringe?" She meant Fred.
"I think-" Clarence took a swig from the bottle. "He would understand," that was a lie. "I think he would want you to be safe," that wasn't. "He wouldn't want us to risk ourselves for him." That was also true.
Beatrix's hand closed over his. Her eyes were shining again. "Tell me to leave him behind, Clarence." she whispered. "I can't stand feeling like I'm giving up."
"If we go to Salisbury-"
Beatrix grabbed the bottle from him and sucked on it like a baby. Clarence watched her face swim as he tried to put his thoughts in order.
"If we go there, Bobbins people won't help us because they want the same as the Leprechauns, to see me on the throne."
"I wanted to hate you," Beatrix told him. "I wanted to think you are a coward."
"I am," he told her.
"But the thought of losing you is worse than the thought of leaving Fred behind," she whispered. Her eyes grew wide and she put her hand to her mouth as if she couldn't believe what she was saying. "I'm a terrible person."
She drank again, but he took the bottle from her. She let her hands fall. He placed the bottle down and took her hands in his own. He stroked his thumb across her wrist, marveling in the softness of it. He'd longed to touch her like this for such a long time, but even as he did his brain screamed at him that it was too dangerous, that he should stop- take his bed roll and go back downstairs. She raised her hand to his face, her fingers cupping his chin, the question unspoken in her eyes, and he gave in.
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